


Tea and Circumstance

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: avengerkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Bruce had to have worked his ass off in between studying his ass off, so why not at a coffee shop? </p><p>The original prompt was a bit longer, but would contain fic spoilers. It can be found here: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5758.html?page=9. </p><p>The coffee shop became a tea shop somewhere along the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally unedited. I may return to polish it up at a later date.

Almost despite himself, Bruce had come to love the insane little shop that stole twenty hours of his life a week. Twenty hours where he should have been researching, grading papers or God forbid, sleeping. He had chosen Furious Teas because the owner didn’t care if he came in looking like death warmed over and had the customer service skills of an annoyed badger. The shop always smelled good and for the most part the customers were a quiet sort. No one came to a tea shop for a raucous night. He worked the closing shift from seven to midnight which on the weekdays was usually peaceful. Usually.  

“Why did you bring me here?” Someone snapped as the door opened to a string of sitar music, “Is it because you hate me, Pep? It was the Smith Incident, wasn’t it? I told you, I have no idea where that monkey came from.” 

Bruce stuffed his notebook back into his bag with a sigh. 

“How may I help you?” He asked as blandly as he could. 

“Hi,” a thin stretch of a girl with a massive fall of strawberry blond hair smiled wearily at him, “I haven’t seen you before. I’m kind of a regular.” 

“Are you?” he said vaguely. He never heard her answer. 

“I can’t possibly get the right amount of stimulation from tea of all things!”  A young man jostled up next to the girl and Bruce’s heart stuttered in his chest.  He’d spent the last two years working hard not to get worked up about anything and his libido had been a sad victim to the cause. All of a sudden it flared back to life with a physical want so intense his mouth flooded with saliva.  

“The right tea is a better stimulant than three cups of espresso,” he said on automatic pilot. 

“That’s what I’ve been telling him, “ the girl beamed at him, “Steve makes me this great thing in the morning, the Dark Angel.” 

"Sounds delicious,” the unfairly hot guy drawled, “I’d rather lick paint.” 

“Wait.” Something clicked in Bruce’s lust addled mind, “you’re Pepper?” 

“That’s me!” She smiled, “How’d you know?” 

Because Steve thought she was everything good in the world poured into one body. Steve had invented the blend he served her and sketched her on napkins on afternoon break. Scrawny, shy Steve, who would never in a thousand years tell her. 

“Lucky guess,” he gestured vaguely at a table, “I’ll make you a pot to split with your friend.” 

“I refuse to drink anything called Angel,” her friend whined. 

“Let me guess,” Bruce sighed, “you like one of those terrible five shot espresso things that leave you shaking, right?” 

“I like something that has a chance in hell of keeping me awake, yeah,” the guy flashed a dangerous smile. 

“If I make it, you won’t sleep for twenty-four hours,” Bruce turned his back on them, “now sit down or get out.” 

He didn’t hear the door chime, so he assumed they’d stayed. Smiling grimly, he set aside a small pot for Pepper. She didn’t deserve to be punished for her friend’s attitude.  Then he carefully brewed a carefully chosen combination of black teas that usually got him through finals. It made Steve’s ‘Black Tar’ look like a gentle herbal concoction.  He mellowed it with a teaspoon of honey, taking the edge off. By the time he’d gone through the whole brewing ritual, he’d regained himself.  He poured the two cups and set them at their table with the check. Pepper smiled at him while the guy glared at him suspiciously. 

“On the house,” he said curtly, then turned back to the counter.  

He turned his attention firmly to his notebook, not paying the least attention to the rise and fall of their voices.  Numbers soothed him, drew him deep in and gave him the luxury of forgetting not only his anger, but the rest of the world.  He noted the strain of the sitars as someone left about a half hour later and figured they’d seen themselves out. 

“Sleeping on the job?” The question startled him and he dropped his notebook, notes flying.  Pepper’s friend watched him on raised eyebrow and a sly smile. Then he plucked one of the loose sheets of paper off the counter top, “Woah. This is some nasty stuff.” 

“It’s confidential,” Bruce snatched the paper back and piled the rest of the loose sheets back into his notebook. 

“I’ll say, that model would put a huge dent in half a major city.” 

“Who are you?”  His cursed himself for getting sloppy. No one at the shop usually asked much beyond what he was getting his degree in. Then their eyes glazed over.  

“You don’t know?” The guy laughed, “Where have you been?” 

“Working,” he swallowed, “why?” 

“I’m Tony Stark.” 

“Good for you,” Bruce shoved his notebook back in his bag. 

“You really have no idea who I am?” 

“Shockingly, I don't care either.  Was there something you wanted?” 

“What? Oh, yeah. I wanted a refill,” Tony produced the empty cup and set it down on the counter, “Pepper cruelly abandoned me here to walk back on my own and I’ll need something to sustain me.” 

“Thought you didn’t want my sticks and leaves?” 

“Look, if I don’t get this model down on paper then the free world is going to be denied one hell of a new engine.” 

“If you drink a second one of those you might not sleep for a week.” 

“I’ll live with the consequences.” 

Tony said nothing else as Bruce made his tea and took his money. Instead, he looked at Bruce like he might try to dissect him. It made the hair on the back of Bruce’s neck rise. He let out a shuddering sigh of relief when Tony took his cup and intense gaze away, walking back out into the night alone. Though maybe relief was the wrong word. A strange, quicksilver part of him wanted to chase after the rude, gorgeous stranger. But Bruce didn't do things like that. Didn't act on impulse. Didn't let himself lose control. Instead he wiped down the counter top and counted down the minutes to closing.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re shitting me,” Loki stared at Bruce. 

“Why would I make that up? Who the hell is this guy?” Bruce rang up another order. 

“You are pathetic,” Loki started three simultaneous brews without skipping a beat. “Tony fucking Stark.” 

“I don’t think fucking is his middle name,” Bruce muttered, ignoring the titters of the two girls waiting for their change. 

“It might as well be,” Loki rolled his eyes, pouring hot water with an elegant twist of his wrist, “he’s a ridiculously rich prodigy who looks like a model. He’s a legend.” 

“Mostly he whined like a five year old,” Bruce shrugged. 

“Why do you get all the interesting customers?” 

“Just lucky I guess.” 

“Brutally unfair, I say. You coming by after work? I’ve still got a half pack of the disgusting Indian beer you like.” 

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure how he’d become friends with Loki. After what Bruce thought of as The Incident, he had moved halfway across the country and in the ensuing two years had been too busy to try and make new connections. He hadn’t thought he wanted friends. But then there was Loki. Misanthropic, mysterious Loki, who talked to everyone and was friends with no one.  They had worked together for weeks before Bruce knew one true thing about the other man and that had only been that he was getting his doctorate in literature. Which he discovered thanks to Loki’s propensity to add pseudo-profound quotes to mundane conversations. 

Then deep into one slow Friday, a living breathing Abercrombie and Fitch ad had walked in. The kind of guy that Bruce used to think could only be photoshopped into existence. Loki had turned pale as a sheet. 

“Thor,” Loki had choked, “what are doing here?” 

“I’ve missed you!” Thor reached across the counter as if for a hug. 

“Have you?” Loki took a step back, clearly shaken. 

“Of course, I have! Why wouldn’t I? When I came back and you weren’t home...I should have come visited right away, but Dad had another relapse and you weren’t answering your phone. Mom said you needed some space.” 

“Mom didn’t tell you, did she?” Loki started to laugh, a high mad pitch that rubbed the wrong way over Bruce’s skin.  “No, of course not. She left it to me like always. To clean up after their mess.

“What mess?” 

“Oh, you'll love this. It's such a joke! The family misfit isn't family at all! It’s all been a lie. I’m adopted,” Thor looked like someone had slapped him, “Dad finally admitted it, but only after I found the paperwork. They were never going to tell me. For my own good.”

“That doesn’t-”

“Make any sense?” Loki cut in bitterly. “Tell me that you never thought it. Never looked at me and wondered? I’ve never been the same as the rest of you.”

“You’re still my brother.”  Thor said firmly, “Always.” 

“Just leave me alone, Thor.”  Loki rubbed a hand over his face, “You’ve won, alright? You’re the golden son. I’m the one Dad found in a trashcan and took pity on.” 

“How can you say that?” 

“Because you say it yourself when you think I can’t hear. Because I read it in everything you do, everything you say.” 

“Why must you always be so dramatic? Maybe I haven’t always understood you, but you’ve always been important to me. Surely you must see that?” 

“The bookworm, be he ever so decent and clever, is really only pleasing to himself and a small handful of others. The world passes him by and beckons to life and beauty ... to gay and handsome creatures to whom the hearts of their fellow men continue to turn.”  Loki quoted with a rough burr in his voice, “Thomas Fontane.” 

“What does that even mean? Why can you never speak sense?” 

Bruce stepped between Loki and the counter. He could only stand back so long and he was worried that Loki, who had once scared off a would-be burglar with a crazy grin and the Feast of St. Crispian speech, might actually start to cry.  

“Look, clearly you’re both upset,” he said carefully, “and this isn’t the time or the place.” 

“But-” Thor began. 

“I’m sure if Loki wants to talk he’ll call you.” Bruce said firmly. 

“Maybe,” Loki said sullenly behind him. 

“So be it. But if I don’t hear from you by the end of the week, I’ll be back.” 

When he was gone, Loki had sagged against the counter. 

“It’s eleven thirty,” Bruce said quietly, “let’s close up early and get shitfaced.” 

“Fuck yes.”  

After that they’d started talking to each other more. They basically had nothing in common, except the shop, long hours and their sexuality. The last was mostly moot thanks to Bruce’s self-imposed celibacy while Loki’s taste ran to the quick, emotionless and dirty. Still, it was apparently enough for two lonely people to be getting on with. 

“Earth to Banner,” Loki snapped his fingers at him, “are you coming over or not?”

“I have papers to grade.” 

“Yeah me too. We could just drop them all down a flight of stairs and grade on aerodynamics.” 

“Good plan.” 

“Well I am a genius,” Loki preened, “looks like the dinner rush is over. Your turn to wipe down the tables.” 

“Joy.” 

The sitars sang out while Bruce was focused on scrubbing up a stubborn part of jam. At least he hoped it was jam. They didn’t serve anything that contained jam, but the alternatives didn’t bear thinking about.  

“Bruce!” 

“What?” He called back absently. 

“There’s a customer here who says he’ll only talk to the brilliant, surly guy. I’m assuming that’s you!” 

He knew who it was before he looked up. Sure enough, Tony was standing at the counter, smiling flirtatiously at Loki. Loki in turn had on his best ‘I’m being polite to you because they pay me’ smile. It had been known to make freshman weep and change majors. Tony didn’t blink an eye.   

“There you are!” Tony smiled as Bruce closed in, “Look, I just wanted apologize for being a dick yesterday. Well that and beg you to make me more tea. Pepper said I should beg.” 

“You don’t have to beg. It’s a store. You ask, I give, money is exchanged,” Bruce shrugged. 

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Tony wheedled, “I said I was sorry. It was Bruce right? As in Bruce Banner?” 

“How’d you know that?” 

“I read up on gamma radiation last night after I saw your notes. I thought everyone had given up on it and I don’t like being behind the times on that kind of thing. Found your name on a half dozen articles.”  

“You read my articles?”  

“Sure. Anyone ever tell you that you abuse semicolons?” 

“All the time,” Loki muttered darkly and Bruce shot him a glare. He hadn’t asked Loki to edit his C.V. just look it over. It had been returned covered in red ink and angry emoticons. 

“You’re also ridiculously brilliant,” Tony said casually, “I’d love to take a look at your models one of these days.” 

“You can’t,” thrown, Bruce found the truth spilling from him, “it really is confidential. My mentor works for the DoD.” 

“Figures DARPA would be sniffing around you,” Tony clucked his tongue, “they always want to scoop my finds.” 

“Your find? That’s wrong on so many levels I’m not really sure where to start. I’m only allowed in the front door anyway. Just far enough to crunch numbers.” 

“Then they’re idiots,” Tony sighed, “look I’ll save the recruitment speech for later, but right now, I need some more of that cocaine you call tea before I pass out on your floor.” 

When Bruce handed him the cup, Tony made an obscenely happy noise that would haunt Bruce’s dreams for weeks to come.  


	3. Chapter 3

The tenor of the shop changed entirely after that. Tony came in every night that Bruce worked, talking physics and wheedling cup after cup of bitter tea out of him. That probably would have been disconcerting enough on it’s own, but Tony had a seemingly endless entourage of smart, beautiful friends. Maybe friend was stretching it in some cases. Natasha and Clint seemed less to hang out with Tony and more occasionally appear simultaneously in the same location. It took Bruce a pathetically long time to realize they were probably bodyguards. Either way, Furious Teas was suddenly much busier from 7 to midnight or as Loki put it:

“Your boyfriend is trying to put you through school on his friend’s tips. Not that I’m complaining.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Bruce muttered, “we’re not even friends.”

“You know what I love about you?” Loki threw a dish towel at him, “You make me look socially adept in comparison.”

“I only see him in the shop. That’s not a friend. That’s a customer.”

“What customer takes up nuclear physics as a hobby so he has something to talk to you about?”

“It’s not exactly nuclear”, Bruce corrected, “and he hardly did it for me. Tony’s just one of those people that knows something about everything. He’s not showing any more interest in me than he does a piston.”

“But that afternoon he asked himself, with his infinite capacity for illusion, if such pitiless indifference might not be a subterfuge for hiding the torments of love.”

“I don’t care what you’re quoting, just because a dead old man wrote it down doesn’t make it true. And no one’s hiding anything.”

“Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera.” Loki sing-songed, “And you are.”

“It’s just Tony being Tony.”

So of course that was the night Tony came in alone and asked all in a rush:

“You want to stop by my lab tomorrow? I’m either going to change the future of energy or explode something. Either way, you should come.”

Bruce could feel Loki’s eyes burning into the back of his neck.

“I’m teaching in the morning.”

“Afternoon then. We can get lunch first.”

“I have to be back for my shift at seven.”

“Don’t worry Cinderella, I won’t let you turn into a pumpkin,” Tony winked broadly and left without ordering anything.

“What just happened?” Bruce turned to Loki, waiting for ‘I told you so’ in iambic pentameter.

“I’m going to take my smoke break. I’ll walk you through it when I come back.” Loki said instead, looking a little distracted.

But Loki didn’t go through the back door to the dumpster. He went out the front door and disappeared down the street. When he came back, he didn’t reek of his usual Parliaments.

“So. You’ve got a date.”

“It’s not a date.”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse now. What are going to wear?”

“Clothes. Probably something I won’t miss if things are likely to blow up.”

“I despair of you, Banner.”

Sometimes, Bruce despaired of himself. When he got home, he opened his closet and stared at the pitiful few faded shirts and neatly pressed khakis. He closed the door again firmly. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Even if, and it was a huge ridiculous if, Tony was interested in him, nothing would come of it. Nothing could come of it.

He stayed up even later than usual, clearing his inbox ruthlessly. Buried deep in the ignored messages was a gentle reminder from his therapist that they were due for a check in soon. He wrote back a quick list of times and tried to ignore the sour flood of anxiety. As if he weren’t worked up enough already. Turning to his most constant solace, he opened up his latest models and threw numbers at them.

If he fell asleep at his laptop, then no one was around to see.


	4. Chapter 4

“There’ll be a test next week covering all material from the midterm until today,” he announced, not bothering to turn back around to face the groans, “if you have any questions, my office hours are as follows.” 

His ‘office’ was more of a box that he shared with the department’s two other graduate assistants. Any undergrad that actually wanted to talk to him was usually deterred by the cabbage aroma that clung to the carpeting and the depressing warren of cubicles in the Physical Sciences' basement. Bruce tried to spend as little time there as possible. 

By the time he’d written up his limited availability in crumbling yellow chalk, most of the room had emptied out. Tony was sitting in the front row, hands folded on top of the desk with an over exaggerated look of attention. 

“I have a question, professor. Why is your handwriting so terrible?” 

“Because writing complex formulas in chalk at an unnatural angle is harder than solving the formulas to begin with,” Bruce shrugged on his battered leather jacket and reached for his laptop bag, “I had wondered how I was supposed to find you. Since you forgot to tell me.” 

“Did I?” Tony shrugged bonelessly and slid out of the chair, “You look awful.” 

“Thank you,” Bruce sighed, reaching up to remove his glasses. 

“Don’t be sensitive. You look like you haven’t slept at all. I mean, you usually have the exhausted look going for you, but it’s usually at about five. Today is at least a seven.” 

“You have a rating system for exhaustion?” 

“I had to make it just for you. There’s a chart and everything. I don’t have it on me because Pepper said it made me sound like a deranged stalker.” 

“She thinks you’re stalking me?” 

“So does your little friend. Well. Not in so many words, but he implied it.” 

“My little friend?” 

“Yeah, the one with the slicked back hair and the license to kill.” 

“Loki,” Bruce pieced together, “who’s taller than you, I think. So not so little.” 

“A lot of men are taller than me. That doesn’t, in fact, make them bigger.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” Tony shrugged, “Come on. How do you feel about Indian for lunch?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Indian was perfect, actually. Tony chose the same restaurant that Bruce always gravitated to for comfort food. He ordered his usual and watched with amusement as Tony’s eyes watered over after a stolen bite. 

“You aren’t human,” Tony accused as he coughed and reached for the naan. “That isn’t human food. It’s lava.” 

“Clears the sinuses,” Bruce took a sip of water, “tell me what you’re doing today.” 

And Tony talked. Bruce listened with growing fascination, jumping in when he felt sure of the direction. If what Tony proposed worked, it was change the way cars were built. Even it failed, the results would be worth studying for years to come. 

“Do you always think like this?” Bruce asked when the last of their food was long gone. 

“Don’t you?” Tony leaned in across the table, close enough that Bruce could see that there were black flecks in deep brown warmth of his irises, “Don’t you get tired trying to keep up with everyone else because you’re already fifteen steps ahead? Doesn’t your mind churn all the time and isn’t every minute that you’re not spending following up a lead feel like a minute wasted?” 

“Yes,” Bruce breathed out, “yes, all the time.” 

“You should come work for me,” Tony said, just like a normal person would say ‘You should take off all your clothes, so I can lick you all over’, “I could pay for the rest of your degree. You’re wasted making tea and teaching freshman about gravity.” 

It was just the right brutal slap that Bruce needed to shake free of Tony’s impossible charisma. 

“I’m not interested in charity.” 

“Come on, I could be your sugar daddy. Well in this case, science daddy. And really you’re older than me. Science buddy, maybe?” Tony joked, then frowned when Bruce didn’t laugh, “It’s not charity. You’re a revolutionary mind. You’re wasted doing the scut work for a DoD lackey.” 

“Nothing is wasted,” Bruce stood up and threw down his last twenty trying not to get upset, “if you’ll excuse me...” 

“No, I won’t excuse you. It’s a compliment!” 

“Backwards kind of compliment. You don’t know anything about me and maybe it should stay that way,” he headed toward the door, only to find Tony’s hand clamping around his elbow. “You really want to get off of me, right now.” 

“I really don’t,” Tony dug in his heels, “I want you to come with me to this demonstration. I’m sorry I’m an asshole. It’s congenital, I can’t help it.” 

“You’re not...” Carefully, Bruce reached over and removed Tony’s had from his arm. He counted backwards from twenty in his head. “I can’t afford to be angry.” 

“Because of what happened at Harvard?” 

“How...” Bruce sighed. “Fucking Google.” 

“Actually it came up during the background check,” Tony shrugged, “Natasha runs them on anyone I talk to more than once. It’s kind of a bitch and usually I don’t look, but she was making a fuss over it.” 

“I almost killed a man,” and it was the first time he had said it to someone new in a long time. The only people that knew on campus were his mentor and Loki, who had heard the whole sordid story after one too many beers. “It’s the sort of thing people make a fuss over.” 

“He attacked you first.” 

“I’m not...we can’t talk about this. I can’t talk about this,” Bruce stepped away from Tony, uncomfortably aware that his hands were shaking. “I’m sorry about the demonstration. Maybe another time.” 

“Fuck the demonstration! It can wait. Let’s go get ice cream.” 

“There’s got to be a dozen people waiting for you.” 

“Nah. Everyone knows I’m pretty unreliable with this stuff. Besides, my mouth is still on fire. Ice cream can only help the situation.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ice cream did help. They ate it sitting on a bench as the world moved by in the hazy afternoon sunlight. No matter what happened in Bruce's microscopic corner of the world, it was good to remember that the larger picture was unaffected. 

“Tell me something about you that isn’t in a file.” Tony demanded, licking a drip of melting vanilla off his thumb. Bruce had to close his eyes against the image. 

“I have no idea what’s in my files. Could be everything.” 

“For everything you tell me, I’ll tell you something. Fair?” 

“Fair.” Bruce swirled his spoon through soupy chocolate. “I got used to spicy food because of my host family in Kolkata. Ajanta had raised five sons and she liked to have students around. She cooked for me like I was one of her children, once I proved I could take the heat. Your turn.” 

“I sat in on your whole class. You could be a good teacher, if you wanted.” 

“That’s not really about you.” 

“I think it counts.” 

“Try again.” 

“There wasn’t a demonstration planned today,” Tony tossed his cup in the direction of a trash can. Miraculously it went in. “I mean, if you’d come, there would have been one. Pretty amazing too, but it wasn’t scheduled. I was just looking for a way to get you come with me. I wanted to spend time with you away from tea.” 

Bruce dared to glance over at him, prepared for a laugh or a joke. Tony looked back, calm and steady. 

“I’m not a safe person to be around. Let alone...” Bruce set his cup down next to him on the bench, suddenly nauseated. 

“Newsflash: I like a little danger.” 

“It’s not that...I’m not a roller-coaster or an experiment,” he heaved in a breath and pushed out the words, “I’m mentally ill. I black out, disassociate...whatever you want to call it.” 

“Have you had an incident in the past two years?” Tony asked dryly, sliding his arm over the back of the bench. “I’ll answer for you because that is in your files. No. Also? You should stop working for the DoD. They know way too much about you.” 

“I haven’t had an incident because I’ve worked hard to avoid anything that might cause one,” Bruce wasn’t sure if he wanted to run or if he wanted to lean back against Tony’s arm. “And I work for the DoD because it was the only way I could finish my degree. No other college would have me. My mentor only accepted me because I could help him fulfill his contractual obligations.” 

“You mean that you’ve been doing all of his work.” 

“No. Well...only some, maybe. Possibly most. Not all though. Hardly takes me anymore time than just doing my own anyway.” 

Bruce fell silent. He hadn’t run. Nothing awful had happened because the truth had been told. None of the telltale signs of an incident had flared. Relieved beyond words, he allowed himself the ridiculous indulgence of sagging against the back of the bench, his head resting on Tony’s outstretched arm. 

“This wasn’t how I pictured this date going.” Tony laughed, a little rueful. “And I’m going to guess that trying to kiss you right now is a terrible idea.” 

“Hypotheses were made to be tested,” Bruce offered too emotionally worn down to be surprised either by Tony’s interest or his own sudden flirtatiousness. "And I've heard worse ideas."

Tony kissed like he was making a cogent, persuasive argument as to why Bruce should give up everything else in his life and dedicate himself to kissing Tony full-time. It was warm, thorough and tasted like vanilla and curry. By the end, Bruce was half-convinced. 

“You are ridiculously sexy,” Tony pulled away in stages, talking in the kind of hushed whispers Bruce associated with darkened bedroom, “I’ve thought so since that first night.” 

“You mean when I was an complete jerk the whole time?” 

“You didn’t sound like a jerk. You had this whole worn out, hoarse voice, rumpled look like you’d given up sleep to have wild sex.” 

“Not even close. I thought you were gorgeous. And an asshole.” 

“Well, I am both. You’re a good judge of character.” Tony’s hand rested on the back of Bruce’s neck, the thumb describing intimate circles on his skin. “Are you going to get all weird on me now?” 

“Probably. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” Something awful occurred to him, “longer than you’ve been legal, actually.” 

“You’re only six years older than me, Gramps. I’ve been legal for four years. Breath.” 

“I’m breathing.” 

“I figure you’re going to be a challenge. Lucky for you, I like challenges.” 

“Yeah, lucky for me.” 

They kissed a while longer, the sun creeping steadily downward. Tony was like the best kind of math, Bruce could lose himself in him. 

“I have to go to work,” he said with a groan. 

“Call in sick.” 

“Tony.” 

“Work ethic,” Tony tsked, “that has got to go.” 

They walked the blocks to the tea shop together. It wasn’t until they were nearly there that Bruce realized they’d held hands the whole way. 

“Thanks. I mean. It was a nice date.” 

“It was a disaster,” Tony grinned, “except for that last part. That worked out pretty well. You should come by my place when you get off.” 

“Not tonight,” Bruce slowly let go of Tony’s hand, regaining himself. 

“Tomorrow then.” 

“I don’t get off until midnight.” 

“Perfect. I won’t have to cook you dinner. Which would probably also be a disaster.” Tony grinned, “I’ll email you the address.” 

“There’s no arguing with you, is there?” 

“I only wish. People spend so much time doing it. Everything would move faster if they just agreed.” 

“Good night, Tony.” Bruce said with a roll of his eyes, but he knew his smile was betraying him. 

As soon as he got inside, Loki called out, 

“Kisses are a better fate than wisdom!” He tossed an apron in Bruce’s direction, “That’s Cummings and he was usually right about those sorts of things.” 

“Were you watching through the window?” 

“It’s a windowed storefront, Bruce. Everyone was watching.” 

Bruce turned to the seated patrons. Everyone was looking politely away. Except for a table of laughing girls who winked and whistled at him. 

“I think I’m going to crawl in the back room and die,” Bruce muttered.

“Not before you tell me everything.”


	6. Chapter 6

The doorbell echoed loudly through the mostly empty building. The address Tony had given him had led to what was still a construction site, despite the working elevators. The setting only added to Bruce’s unease. He wasn’t naive. He knew that there was only one reason you visited someone this late at night. Especially someone who had already shown a marked interest. 

“It’s open!” 

Bruce steeled himself and opened the door. At first glance, there was no evidence that anyone occupied the apartment. The sterile white living room contained no furniture, no papers, only a collection of bottles shoved into one corner. They might have contained liquor once, but the labels had long been stripped away and were now marked with chemical symbols in blurry Sharpie. 

The vast kitchen that opened off the living room at least boasted a table and chairs, but none of it looked particularly used. A long cup sat in the sink, half full of cold murky coffee. 

“Tony?” Bruce called out. 

“In here!” 

There were three doors on the other side of the living room, but only one was cracked open. Bruce pushed inside and at last found evidence that the nova bright personality of Tony Stark inhabited the place. 

The room was half workshop and half college dorm room. There were posters plastered on every wall of bands, movies and cars. A long sturdy table was littered with tools, blueprints and tortured metal shapes. Tony was sitting behind it, a pair of goggles on top of his head, thick rubber gloves on his hands and a dash of grease on the bridge of his nose. Instead of any kind of proper lab coat, he was wearing a dark tanktop. Bruce’s trepidation gave way to an unholy surge of lust. 

“Hi.” Tony grinned at him, boyish and excited. 

“Hey,” Bruce slid into the stool next to him, “what are you working on?” 

“Building better kevlar,” With a yank of his teeth, he pulled off one thick glove and tossed it to the side. His newly freed hand slid around Bruce’s neck drawing him in for a kiss. “You smell like chai.” 

“Professional hazard,” he sighed into Tony’s mouth. 

“We should do this in another room. I mean, you and me in this workroom is hot in theory, but there are way too many sharp things for it to work in practice,” Tony drew away, discarding goggles and his remaining glove. 

“Does your bedroom actually contain a bed?” 

“Oh, yeah. That,” he waved a hand at the empty room. “It’s just me most of the time, so why bother, right?” 

It was the same reasoning Bruce used when he nuked another bowel of Spaghetti O’s. For the first time, it occurred to him that maybe Tony was lonely too. He was so eager to pick Bruce’s mind right from the start. How many people could Tony Stark really talk too? Maybe they could make sense together. Two jagged shards of glass side by side.

“Woah, where’d you go?” Tony’s hand encircled his wrist, warm and grounding. 

“Just thinking. It’s nothing.” 

“Look we don’t have too if...you know. I know my reputation, but I’m perfectly able to wait.” 

“It wasn’t that. Though. Yeah. Maybe it is that a little.” Bruce flushed. “I want to though.” 

Tony’s bedroom wasn’t chaotic or empty or a bordello or any one of the insane things Bruce’s imagination had tortured him with over the last twenty four hours. It was just a room with a nice bed and a dresser. There was a single lamp glowing gold, throwing everything into shadow. 

They came together quietly, all soft lips and seeking hands. 

“There’s something I should tell you,” Tony mumbled into Bruce’s neck licking a line there. 

“The things I should tell you are legion,” Bruce ran his thumb along the waistline of Tony’s jeans. 

“I’ve got these scars. Nasty ones. Heart surgery.” 

“It's only fair then," Bruce slipped his hands up under Tony’s shirt and tugged upward, "since you've already seen all of mine." 

The scars were an ugly set of lines tearing across Tony’s chest. Bruce knew enough about the body to guess what had been done, how hastily and that it must have been the worst kind of circumstances. No one with Tony’s kind of money had scars like that otherwise.

“Are the sensitive?” 

“No, not really. Numb mostly.” 

Bruce trailed a thumb over the worst of them. He could imagine ribs cracked open, the shouts and wailing monitors. Gently he pushed Tony towards the bed and stripped off his own shirt. With the care he had forced himself to learn and the patience that had never come naturally, Bruce dropped to his knees and showed Tony how little his scars mattered. 

Later, miraculously, Tony returned the favor.


	7. Chapter 7

“You slept with him,” Loki announced like the world's most embarrassing clairvoyant as soon as Bruce walked in on Monday, “and you didn’t even text me.” 

“Giving you a point by point bulletin wasn’t my first priority.” 

“I’m wounded. You can make it up to me by telling me how it went.” 

“It went the way it usually goes,” Bruce tied on his apron. 

“Just tell me this: Was it good?”

Flashes of memory came to him. A hand drifting over his stomach, a bite to his inner thigh, the tang of Tony’s sweat under his mouth. Later in the shower, laughing and chasing soap suds over each other’s skin. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Loki laughed, “never mind! I can see it in your face. Never play poker.” 

“Wasn’t on my agenda.” 

"When are you seeing him next?"

“No idea,” he shrugged loosely as if he hadn't asked himself the same question a thousand times since he'd left Tony's apartment in the wee hours of the morning. “Change the subject. How are you?” 

“Fine. Awful. Whatever.” Loki laughed loosely, “it’s all sound and fury signifying nothing.”

“Shakespeare? That’s basic for you.” 

“In times of great need, you can depend on the Bard.” 

“I guess you talked to Thor then.” 

“Talked. Screamed at. Tomato. Tomatoh. He wants me to come home for summer break. I would rather put my hand into a garbage disposal.” 

“How about your thesis?” 

“Is this line of questioning intended to make me depressed? Because it’s working.” 

“Fine. Tell me something good then.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Loki grinned, “guess what sad little artiste suddenly worked up the balls to ask out his lady love?” 

“Steve? Really?” 

“You are an inspiration to us all.” 

“I didn’t do anything. Well, not on purpose. How does Steve know about that anyway? I haven’t seen him this week.” 

“This week? Banner, you and Tony have been eyefucking each other over this counter for three months.” Loki rolled his eyes, “Anyway, Pepper apparently was talking about how stupid Tony was over you like every morning. So Steve is all to aware.” 

“And he asked her out because of that?” 

“Well that and I might have accidentally put one of his napkin sketches under her tea two mornings ago.” 

“Loki!” 

“What? It worked. They’re out right now going to see some art nouveau installation. I’m a goddamn matchmaker.” 

The sitar strings played and Tony strode in. Bruce’s grin was wide enough to make his face ache. 

“Extra large cup of sticks and leaves, please,” Tony leaned across the counter, eyes bright. 

“Do you want that with extra contempt, sir?” 

“Only if it’s delivered with you looking over your glasses. Have I told you I like the glasses, yet?” 

“Oh gag me,” Loki pushed Bruce away from the counter. “Go home.” 

“I just got here!” 

“I’ll cover for you. Just this once. Because honestly, if you keep this up, I will be forced to murder you both in creative ways to express my sexual frustration.” 

And because he always wanted to and there would never be a better opportunity, Bruce threw off his apron and launched himself over the counter. It wasn’t graceful, but it was worth the risk when Tony took his hand and they ran out into the night.

Tomorrow it would all still be waiting. His guilt. His dubious mental health. His terrible menial job. His dubiously moral research. His students. His empty bank account. His dubiously moral best friend. 

Just for tonight though, he could pretend that you could run away from it all. That it could just be him and Tony and the world flying by under their feet.


End file.
